


the more we wage war

by Lake (beyond_belief)



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Didn't Know They Were Dating, M/M, Non-Chronological, Not Canon Compliant, POV Multiple, Sort of an AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:28:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21975091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyond_belief/pseuds/Lake
Summary: The short one where they don't know they're dating.
Relationships: Brad Colbert/Nate Fick
Comments: 13
Kudos: 187





	the more we wage war

**Author's Note:**

> This sat like 75% complete in my WIPs folder for uhhhh forever (as part of a series of post-show stories I was going to call _short stories from after the (long) war_ but never really got too far on overall) and then I realized how close I was to posting 100k of fic this year and how close this was to done. It's pretty pointless, but.

Nate's stretched out on the couch, reading The Iliad again. Brad pauses in the doorway and watches him for a few minutes before Nate realizes he's standing there. "Hey," he says, smiling. He leaves a finger tucked in his book.

"Hey," Brad replies. He jerks his chin at the book in Nate's hands. "I didn't think people actually read that after high school."

Nate grumbles at him to shut it, then says, "People hardly read this anyway. They think it's a glorification of war, and of a man as a skilled fighting machine."

"What do you think?" Brad takes three steps forward and taps the bottom of Nate's bare foot, and Nate twitches and grins. His toes curl.

"I think I have to teach at least some of it to students who couldn't care less about Homer."

Brad flicks his ankle. "Let's get dinner instead."

Nate marks his place with what looks like a receipt and swings himself upright. "Should I change?" He's in track pants and what Brad thinks might be the world's oldest Dartmouth sweatshirt, the one with a hole in one wrist and the tie for the hood long gone. "I should probably change. Unless you're taking me out for Taco Bell."

"Yes," Brad says.

Nate grins and kisses him briefly as he walks past. "All right."

While he changes, Brad calls Fontina to see how busy they are. "We're wide open in the dining room, as it's a weeknight," the hostess says. "The bar is fairly busy, though."

Brad assures her the dining room is perfect, and slips the phone back in his pocket as Nate comes out dressed in khakis and a polo. "Ugh, so prep school," Brad teases. He reaches out to flick at Nate's collar.

Nate knocks his hands down. "Did you get all the groceries put away? I could talk more about Homer if you want."

"Yes. And maybe at dinner. Wasn't Homer really like four different guys and only one of them was blind?"

Nate blinks and stops dead in the middle of reaching for his jacket to answer. "The bard _in_ The Odyssey was blind. And if you polled eighteen classics scholars you'd probably get eighteen different answers."

"How are there eighteen different answers to whether or not a guy is blind?"

" _Please_ put your shoes back on so we can go," Nate groans. 

Brad's grin is wide and happy as he shoves his feet back in his sandals.

***

  


***

Brad answered after the second ring with "Hey, Nate", and Nate was slightly embarrassed at the amount of relief he felt. "What's up?"

"Just making sure you didn't get shipped out or something without telling me," he managed to say, hoping that didn't sound stupid. "You're always showing up at my apartment without any warning and when you didn't impose upon me for several days, I wondered."

"I wouldn't go without telling you," Brad replied. His voice was warm. "A couple late nights at the office, and every time I thought about calling you, something else came up that apparently only I could deal with. Apparently I'm indispensable, who fucking knew?"

"Well, I knew," Nate laughed. 

"What are you doing right now?"

"I've got office hours, so I'm still at school until seven, even if no one comes in."

"Want me to pick you up?" Brad asked. "I've never seen your office, I'm not sure it really exists in the world, maybe you sit in fucking Starbucks eight hours a day working on your great American novel and only pretend to teach eighteen year-olds ancient Greek poetry." 

"Ancient Greek poetry is next semester; do you think I should assign the one about the gay threesome?" 

"Yes. And why am I not surprised such a thing exists?" 

Nate huffed a laugh. "Oh, I think you would probably be surprised at some of the stuff that exists."

"Well, you can recite some later."

"Are you sure you want to drive all the way over here?" Nate asked, because it's not like the college was just down the block from the base. 

"Sure. I can leave right now. I have nothing better to do tonight."

"All right." Nate could see a shadow approaching outside the office door, and that tended to indicate someone coming in. "You think you can find the place?"

"Oh, I'll find it," Brad replied, and ended the call.

Half an hour later, Nate was pulling on his coat when he heard boots on the hallway tile. "The door to the left," he called, and Brad appeared, smiling mockingly.

"We should hurry so my bike doesn't get towed," he said, taking his hood down, and Nate groaned. 

"Really? It's December, Brad."

Brad only smiled wider, then started looking around Nate's office, poking his fingers into the stacks of journals and bending down to look at the titles on the lower bookshelves. "Isn't Machiavelli considered Renaissance and not ancient?" he asked. "And also Italian?"

"Those are Tamara's," Nate said dryly. He slid a folder of quizzes still to be graded into his backpack, then put it on over his shoulders. "Are we going or what?"

Brad flipped him off, but rose from his crouch. "You get any takers for your office hours?" he asked as they left, Nate locking the office door behind him. 

"Just one of the English majors lucky enough to get me as an advisor, needing me to sign off on his course schedule for next semester so he can register. He's not even in any of my classes right now."

Brad handed over the passenger helmet. "Do you ever get any of your actual students?" 

"Rarely." He buckled the helmet under his chin, not missing Brad's dramatic skyward eye-roll. "I do get a lot of grading done," he added with a shrug, then settled himself on the back of the bike. "You sure you don't mind driving me back here to get my truck later?"

Brad started the bike in reply. Nate didn't bother asking any further questions, just gripped the bike with his knees and put his arms around Brad's leather-clad waist. The wind whipped at his helmet, but with the visor down it was tolerable. There was just a little vee where the collar of his coat gaped. Thankfully, Brad's body shielded him from most of the cold. A few turns into the ride, Nate figured out they were probably going to the small deli a few blocks from campus, the one place he knew Brad knew in town.

"I miss California," Brad announced, after he'd parked outside the deli. "It's warm there."

"Too bad."

Brad gave him a look that Nate often translated to mean _I can't believe I hang out with you, but fine_ , and Nate grinned at him in reply. "Turkey pesto, with mozzarella and tomatoes, toasted?"

"Yes."

Nate figured he could buy dinner since Brad had driven all the way out to campus. There were a few obvious students scattered around the deli, but no one Nate recognized. He paid, and the bored-looking cashier handed over the number marker and soda cups. 

"How was class?" Brad asked, when Nate sat down at the corner table he'd staked out. 

"I lectured for part of it, then gave them some time to start the reading." 

"What's the current assignment?" 

"Part of Hesiod's poem _Theogony_ , which is basically an introduction to the Greek gods - Cronos and the Titans, Zeus and the Olympians. We only do the first part - it's like the Ancient Greek creation myth." 

"Everyone has one."

"Yes," Nate laughed. "There's an entire course that some of the English majors take." 

"Mm, I'll pass," Brad replied.

Nate rolled his eyes and took the tray from the server when they approached. "So were you bored tonight, or what?"

"Well, you are one of the few people whose presence I can tolerate," Brad said dryly. He unwrapped his sandwich and took a bite, then frowned when the tomato dropped out the bottom.

*

"I brought you this," Brad said when Nate answered the door. He held out a small, prickly cactus in a cup. It looked as though it was listing to one side.

"Is this a challenge?"

Brad grinned. "Not really. The Captain's wife keeps trying to make me a person who can keep houseplants alive, and it's not working."

"She should know better by now," Nate replied, turning to take the cactus into the kitchen. He thought he might have a slightly larger pot stashed under the kitchen sink, and some potting soil left. The cactus looked all right; in need of a bigger home and some more dirt, but otherwise okay.

Brad leaned a hip against the counter and watched him take the cactus from the too-small cup, wearing an oven mitt so he wouldn't get jabbed. "Is that your idea of a glove?"

"Works, doesn't it?" Nate pushed some new dirt around the ball of roots, then let water drip onto it from the faucet for a moment. "You didn't bring this over on the bike," he said.

"Drove the truck." Brad crossed one foot over the other, made a strange face as he looked up at Nate's ceiling, where a hook suspended a pot from which a spider plant tumbled down in long green streamers. "Where'd that one come from?"

"Birthday present from my landlady." He turned off the faucet and set the cactus on a plate. "Last year. You never saw it before now?"

"I've never been in the kitchen before now."

Nate rinsed his hands, then dried them with a piece of paper towel. "I know you didn't drive all the way over here to bring this sad pincushion."

Everything about Brad seemed to still as he looked at Nate, and confusion flickered across his face. For a second Nate was worried that he'd missed something huge in their conversation. "Nate. We're going to the movies. I texted you about it last night. You said okay."

"I did?" He reached for his phone, opened the messages. "I guess I did. Sorry, I was grading papers last night, my mind was on an entirely different track. What time does the show start?"

Brad just looked amused now. "Four."

"That's still more than an hour, you want a beer?"

"Sure."

*

"Are you really walking me to my door?" Nate asked when Brad got out of the truck but left it running.

Brad nudged him with an elbow. "It's a bad neighborhood."

"You're full of shit," Nate replied. At the front porch, he turned. "Thanks for dinner," he said, fishing for the keys in his pocket. Then he leaned in and kissed the corner of Brad's mouth without even thinking. The feel of stubble made him blink. "Oh, shit, I -"

"Fuck that," Brad replied, and grabbed Nate by the front of his coat and _pulled_ , and Nate stumbled a step or two forward like an idiot. Then Brad was kissing him for real, a press of mouths that lasted only a few seconds but was unmistakably a kiss, definitely a kiss, with Brad's hands still gripping his coat. 

They stared at each other and Nate felt his face flame even redder; even his scalp felt hot despite the cold air. "Well," he breathed.

"Uh, yeah." 

Nate swallowed and didn't miss how Brad's gaze dropped to his throat. He felt sort of like he was holding his breath, the band of tension around his rib cage had the same pressure. "Um, do you - do you want to come in?"

"I think I do. But I can't tonight." He tugged Nate's coat, then slid his hand upwards to touch Nate's neck in the gap of his collar, and a tremor rolled down Nate's back. Brad cleared his throat and said, "I'll come over after work on Friday and bring takeout."

"Okay." Complete and coherent multi-word sentences felt light-years away. Friday felt light-years away. 

"Your mouth is hanging open," Brad called over his shoulder as he went back down the sidewalk to the road. Nate shut his mouth, found his keys again - he'd dropped them - and let himself into the house. His phone rang before he'd gotten both his boots off; it was Brad. "Never mind all of that, come back and let me in."

**Author's Note:**

> “Humans are the only animal that blushes, laughs, has religion, wages war, and kisses with lips. So in a way, the more you kiss with lips, the more human you are. And the more you wage war.” - Jonathan Safran Foer


End file.
